


The Kings and the Wedding

by jaydee09



Series: Two Kings [12]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst and Humor, Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-10
Updated: 2014-05-24
Packaged: 2018-01-24 05:17:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1592963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaydee09/pseuds/jaydee09
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Last story in the series!  (Edit: Not quite - I've changed my mind, LOL!)  They always end in a wedding, don’t they – or, in this case, a double wedding……We hope!  </p><p>Thorin and Thranduil argue their way to the altar.  Will one of them leave the other one standing?  A thank you to all my readers for accompanying me (and them) this far.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dresses and Lists and Cakes, oh my!

**Author's Note:**

> Well, it all started with King of the Antlered Throne, my first attempt at slash. I enjoyed it so much that I wrote twelve stories in total, all linked and all describing the developing relationship between our two kings. If you read this one and enjoy it then I hope that you will go back to the beginning and read the lot. They get funnier and more explicit as they go along, I think, with a couple of nasty ones thrown in for good measure. If you have read the lot, then thank you for your support and the patience you have shown as I have put them up, week after week. Perhaps I shall be back with some more stories in the future.
> 
> EDIT: I have written quite a few more stories after this one because I couldn't let the characters go!

 

 

.o00o.

 

The Kings and the Wedding

 

Chp I

 

Dresses and Lists and Cakes, oh my!

 

“So, what’s the dress like?” Thranduil asked Brangwyn with interest.  The day when she would marry Dain’s son and he would commit himself to Thorin was drawing nearer and, as far as Thranduil was concerned, they were getting to the most enjoyable thing so far: the clothes.

 

“Well,” said Brangwyn, screwing up her nose in thought, “it’s not what you would call spectacular – so don’t look disappointed, Thranduil.  We dwarf women are far too short to wear anything elaborate and flouncy: I’d rather not look like a giant meringue.”  And she had a fit of the giggles as she thought about this.  “It’s made of a very beautiful ivory silk and it’s very elegant, in my opinion, but very simple.”

 

Try as he would, the elven king couldn’t help but make a small moue with his finely-moulded lips.  “However,” Brangwyn continued, “I shall be wearing a most exquisite veil in the loveliest lace imaginable; and it will fall down my back and trail behind me on the floor.  There!  Does that make up for things?”

 

“It helps,” laughed Thranduil.  But, then he wanted to know what would be holding the veil in place.

 

“Flowers, I expect,” was the response.  “I don’t have any special jewellery like a coronet or a tiara.  I’m only a poor dwarven woman whose father was a smith.”

 

Thorin, who had switched off from this boring conversation some time ago, suddenly tuned back in at the mention of jewels.  “Well, Brangwyn,” he said, “I expect we can soon put that to rights.  We owe you so much and so I can imagine that a whole selection of jewellery would make a suitable wedding present from us to you, don’t you think, Thranduil?”  And he turned to look at his lover who was currently spending his designated week in Erebor.

 

Brangwyn held up her hands in horror.  “Oh dear,” she said, “that sounded as if I were trying to wangle something expensive out of you.”

 

“No, it didn’t,” laughed Thorin.  “You have never asked for anything from us in all our acquaintance but no generosity on our part can ever make up for all the tireless work you have done on our behalf.  And so, as the future Queen of Erebor, you must accept our present with good grace and no complaints.”

 

Thranduil had been thinking.  “What about that lovely mithril and diamond coronet from the hoard?  You know, the one with the pretty stone that dangles down so provocatively to rest in the middle of the forehead.”

 

“You mean, the one you were modelling the other night for me?” asked Thorin with a gleam in his eye.  “Yes, that would be a perfect piece to hold the veil in place.”  And he turned with a grin to Brangwyn.  “It looks equally good, from my personal experience, either with beautiful clothing or no clothes at all.”  And he raised a cheeky eyebrow.  “I’m sure your betrothed will be in complete agreement when he sees it in place.”

 

Brangwyn had another fit of the giggles and, to cover her embarrassment at so rich a gift, she turned to Thorin and asked what he would be wearing on his big day.

 

“Oh, well, I suppose the materials are very fine – silks and velvets and fur and whatnot – but it will just be a more elaborate variation on what I normally wear.  In blue.”

 

Thranduil rolled his eyes.  “I just can’t make him interested in this side of things,” he complained.

 

“But, to make up for it,” continued Thorin, holding up an admonitory finger, “I shall be wearing lots and lots of gold and mithril – you know, on my fingers, in my ears and around my neck.”

 

Thranduil tutted and it was the dwarf’s turn to roll his eyes at his lover’s disapproval.  “So barbaric,” sighed the elf lord.  “It would be much better if you toned that down a little.  My family, friends and retainers will more than likely think that you are ramming Erebor’s wealth down their throats if you overdo things.”

 

“I don’t care what any elf thinks,” snapped Thorin.  “I dress as is the custom and my jewellery is to please myself and my dwarven guests.”

 

Thranduil rose impatiently to his feet.  “Typical!” he exclaimed.  “You don’t care what any elf thinks and that includes me!  Why I tolerate you is sometimes beyond me!”

 

Brangwyn sighed and slipped from the king’s apartments.  When things began to get nasty like this then it was best to leave them alone to fight it out.

 

“ _You_ tolerate _me_?!” shouted Thorin.  “And after I’ve just sat here in absolute boredom, like, forever, whilst you and Brangwyn witter on about clothes!”

 

“Well, perhaps if you were more interested in what you wore, then I wouldn’t be so ashamed of you when you turned up at my palace in Mirkwood!”

 

Ouch!  That was a cruel smack in the face and Thorin felt very hurt.  “Clothes are objects of status for you and gold and mithril are objects of status for me.  I shall wear as much as I like!” he stormed.  “Anyone would think that this was your wedding day alone and not mine too!”

 

“But, it’s me who has to flaunt you on my arm and I’d rather not flaunt someone who is all excessively bejewelled like…..like….. I don’t know what!” the elf yelled.

 

“Go on! Say it!  Say it!  It was on the tip of your tongue, wasn’t it?  You’d rather not flaunt me on your arm like some cheap whore!” Thorin spat.

 

“Yes, if you insist,” was the elf king’s icily angry response.

 

“Well,” Thorin growled, “I _am_ your whore, aren’t I?  Let’s not be coy about it.”  And he turned away and stomped off into the next room.

 

Thranduil had seen the hurt in his eyes and hurried after him.  He found him on the balcony and, coming quietly up behind him, he slipped his arms around him and nuzzled his neck.  “I’m sorry,” he murmured.

 

“What?  For calling me a whore?” was Thorin’s stiff response.

 

“That and for showing no interest in your attire.  Tell me all about your jewellery,” he wheedled.

 

Slightly mollified, Thorin launched into a description of every ring and ear cuff and the significance of the pieces that he had inherited and why it was important for him to wear them on his special day.

 

Thranduil turned him in his arms and kissed him.  “It all sounds fascinating,” he said quietly, “and I’m sure you will look very fine and I shall be very proud of you.”  Then he edged the dwarf slowly backwards towards the bed.

 

Thorin grinned up at him through his black lashes.  “And the most interesting pieces will not be those you can see but the ones you can’t.  Beneath my clothes.  Reserved for the wedding night.”

 

Thranduil’s eyes widened.  Thorin felt the edge of the bed against the back of his legs and he fell upon the mattress, pulling the elf down on top of him.  “Tell me,” whispered Thranduil, sliding his hand beneath Thorin’s shirt and fingering his nipple ring.  “You mean, like this?” he asked.

 

The dwarf king tore off his lover’s top and began to wriggle out of his own.  “Yes,” he laughed softly, “like this but also…..other things… in ….other places.  Things especially designed for newly-wedded lovers to play with.”

 

Thranduil could hardly breathe.  He yanked off Thorin’s breeches and then his own.  The dwarf pulled him down hungrily between his powerful thighs whilst the elf covered him in kisses.  “Wear all the jewellery you like,” gasped Thranduil into his lover’s throat as a million erotic images danced before his eyes.  “The more the better!”

 

.o00o.

Brangwyn gave them three hours.  That should be enough, she thought with amusement.  And, when she returned to their apartments, they were, indeed, all smiles again.

 

“You’ve decided, then?” she asked with a grin.

 

“Yes,” laughed Thranduil.  “If he wants to drape himself in all the gold in Erebor, then it’s up to him.”

 

“Good,” she replied.  And then she noticed that Thranduil was sitting there expectantly and rose to the bait.  “All right,” she said to him, “and what do you intend to wear?”

 

“I’ve got drawings,” he said eagerly and he went to pull them out of a drawer.  Thorin settled back and waited to be bored for another hour or so.

 

.o00o.

 

**Unfortunately, Thranduil’s drawings provoke another row. And then there’s another over where to hold the reception. Will they ever make it to the altar, LOL?**

**Next chapter: Designer Clothing.**

 

 


	2. Designer Clothing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Endless, endless, rows - but they seem to enjoy the making-up afterwards, LOL! In this chapter, Thranduil shows Thorin his design for his wedding outfit and Thorin isn't best pleased!

Chp II

Designer Clothing

 

“Goodness!”exclaimed Brangwyn as Thranduil came hurrying back across the room with a whole wodge of drawings in his hand.  “I didn’t know you were an artist!”

 

“Yes, he is,” said Thorin looking up.  “And a very good one too.  He’s done a whole series of drawings of me, you know, and they’re really life-like.”

 

“Ooo,” said Brangwyn, clapping her hands, “I should really like to see those.”

 

But Thorin cleared his throat and a flush rose up his neck.  “Well, umm, sorry, Brangwyn,” he muttered.  “They’re meant for private viewing only, if you know what I mean.”

 

Thranduil laughed at his discomfort.  “I drew them to keep me company whilst we are apart.  Almost as good as the real thing, I must admit,” he smiled and he began to feel quite aroused just thinking about them. But then he spread out his designs for his wedding outfit on the table.

 

“Oh my,” sighed Brangwyn.  “That is absolutely glorious!”  And they bent their heads together over the drawings whilst a pleased Thranduil pointed out the details of his design.

 

“The whitest silk,” he said, “embroidered with silver thread.  And the matching stole is lined with the palest, palest green.  It will look like starlight shining through the trees of Mirkwood when I have it on.”

 

Thorin threw a bored glance over his shoulder to see what all the fuss was about and then he roared, “N-o-o-o!!!”

 

Thranduil and Brangwyn looked up at him, blinking.

 

“You will NOT wear that!” he yelled.  “It looks like a – a - _dress_!”  And he remembered the drunken conversation he had had with Dain over who was going to wear the white wedding gown.

 

“It does not,” said Thranduil indignantly.  “It looks just like a surcoat – except with long sleeves – and a sort of long, swirly bit behind – and the stole.”

 

“It looks like a DRESS!” wailed Thorin, “and I refuse to be seen with you if you wear it.  We’ll be a complete laughing-stock!”

 

Brangwyn slipped quietly from the room again.

 

“Dain wanted to know who fucked whom,” Thorin continued forcefully, “and who would get to wear the white dress.  This will put all sorts of ideas into people’s heads.”

 

“You didn’t,” snarled Thranduil, “talk about our sex life with Dain of all people, did you?”

 

“Well, I was drunk,” shouted Thorin, “and he caught me on the back foot.  It was after he suggested that I ask you to marry me and I was feeling pretty mellow towards him.”

 

“You will never, NEVER, discuss what goes on between us in the bedroom with ANYONE!” threatened the elven king, grabbing Thorin by the collar.

 

“Or you’ll what?” sneered Thorin.  “Kill me?  Leave me?”

 

Thranduil thrust his face into that of the dwarf’s.  “No, I’ll……I’ll….”  And he paused.  So close.  So close to those beautiful eyes and those gorgeous lips….those soft, pink lips…..that silken beard…that powerful neck.  And he groaned and kissed him full on the mouth.

 

“You just can’t keep your hands off me, can you?” Thorin taunted.

 

“No,” said Thranduil softly.  And he pushed him onto the dining table, dragging down his breeches and unbuttoning his own as he did so.

 

It was fast and hard and satisfying. 

 

“And the thing about my design,” gasped Thranduil afterwards, collapsing in an exhausted heap on Thorin’s back, “is that it has all these lovely big buttons down the front and I shan’t be wearing anything underneath.”

 

“You should have said,” murmured Thorin, “and I might have appreciated it more.”

 

.o00o.

 

They met up with Brangwyn a few hours later down in the dining hall.

 

“Everything all right?” she asked, her eyes twinkling.

 

“Er, yes,” said Thorin.  “He gets to wear the dress – umm – surcoat.  And very good I think he’ll look in it too.  Nice buttons.”

 

Then they were joined by her betrothed, Young Thorin.  “We’ve been talking about our weddings,” said Brangwyn.

 

“Ah, yes,” said Dain’s son.  “I’m all ready to do my bit, you know.  Shall I go down to the dwarven kitchens and organise the catering?”

 

“What?” exclaimed Thranduil.  “But I thought we were having it in Mirkwood?”

 

“Well, you can have yours in Mirkwood, if that’s what you want, but ours is a purely dwarven wedding,” said the prince firmly.

 

“But I want us all to get married together,” cried Brangwyn, sounding a bit upset.  “And if Thorin insists on getting married in Mirkwood, then that’s where I want us to get married, too.”

 

“You’re marrying me, not an elf,” snapped the lad.  “What has Mirkwood got to do with it?”

 

“Yes, come on Thranduil,” interrupted Thorin.  “It’s obvious that we should get married here.  I mean, three dwarves and only one elf.”

 

“Yes, and don’t you like to keep on reminding me of what an outsider I am!” shouted Thranduil, rising to his feet.  “I know I’m outnumbered, but all the more reason why you should consider my opinions and desires and perhaps put them first.”  And he strode from the hall.

 

Thorin ran after him and Brangwyn put her head in her hands.  “This is the third row they’ve had today,” she groaned to her betrothed.  “And if this wedding day ever happens, I shall be very, very surprised.”

 

.o00o.

 

Thorin reached his apartment just as Thranduil slammed the door in his face.  The dwarf opened it cautiously and peeked around the edge, only to draw back quickly as a china vase smashed in pieces by his ear.

 

“Thranduil,” he called gently.  “Now stop that.”   He took another peek and the elven king was standing there angrily, his arms folded and glaring at him.  Then he tossed his silver gilt hair and, marching to the other side of the room, he stared out of the window.  Thorin came quietly up behind him and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder – which Thranduil shrugged off.

 

“My love,” said the dwarf, “if we can’t even decide about the catering, how shall we manage our married life?”

 

“So, you’re suggesting that we don’t get married, then,” was the stiff response.

 

“No,” said Thorin, “I’m suggesting that we get this sorted out.” He put his arm around the elf’s shoulder again.  “Come on,” he said softly.  “Let’s just lie on the bed and talk.”  And he led him to the bed and pulled him down upon the pillows.

 

They lay face to face and Thranduil ran a hand down one of Thorin’s braids with a sigh.  “One day, we shall have a row and you will leave me, I just know it.”

 

“You know nothing,” smiled his lover.  And he bent forward and kissed him tenderly.  Their tongues entwined and they both closed their eyes and savoured the taste of each other.  “Now, about the wedding,” Thorin finally continued.

 

“Yes, I know I’m wrong,” said Thranduil.  “If we don’t get married in Erebor then we shall miss the opportunity of getting married with Brangwyn.  And we both want that.  And so, I am content.”

 

“What?  To get married here?” Thorin asked.

 

“Yes,” agreed the elf.

 

Thorin grinned.  “Have no fear.  We shall treat you and all your retinue like dwarven kings.  None of you shall have any complaints.”

 

“Lots of vegetarian food?” asked Thranduil.

 

“Well, I don’t know about that,” was the frowning response.  “That might be just a bit too much to ask.”  Then when he saw the elf’s face drop, he rolled him on his back and laughed gleefully.  “Don’t worry,” he smiled, leaning over him, “we’ll have lots and lots of lettuce.  Mountains of it.  And it’ll be all yours.”

 

Thranduil reached up and wrapped his arms around Thorin’s neck.  “I want a cuddle,” he said.

 

“Now, is that a euphemism, by any chance?” the dwarf asked with a grin.

 

“Of course,” said the elven king, unbuttoning Thorin’s shirt and breeches.

 

“Totally insatiable,” said the dwarf.

 

“Then we’re a good match,” was the laughing response, “and good matches should get married.”

 

“Hmm, that’s an idea,” said Thorin as he wriggled into position.  “Now just pass me that bottle of oil.”

 

.o00o.

 

**Next chapter: At last!  The wedding day – and night!  This will be my very last chapter of my very last story in this series, _Two KIngs._ I hope you have enjoyed my first attempt at slash.**


	3. Wedding Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sigh. It's the last chapter of the last story and I'm feeling rather sad. (EDIT: No, I changed my mind and wrote loads more, LOL!) What shall I do without these two? But, at least we're finishing on a high note with a wedding......
> 
> But, there's a Postscript. Don't read that if you aren't prepared for a bit of melancholy.
> 
> Love and kisses, everyone!

Chp III

 

Wedding Day

 

The day of the double wedding dawned bright and sunny.  Not that it mattered much inside the vast and gloomy marble halls of Erebor but it cheered Thranduil’s retinue as they accompanied their king to the Lonely Mountain.  The ceremony and the feasting would be held within the dwarven kingdom but part of the honeymoon would be spent in Mirkwood.  And Thranduil smiled as he thought of the preparations he had made to receive his beloved back in his elven palace.

 

That morning, after their arrival, the four lovers were kept apart, to bathe and perfume their bodies and to adorn themselves in their finery.  Then everyone descended to the Great Hall of Ceremonies where Thorin and his heir waited close to the altar dedicated to Mahal, upon which oaths were sworn, whilst Thranduil and Brangwyn were kept apart in another room until the time of the Joining came.

 

Thorin felt more anxious than he had ever felt before and he looked across the aisle to where Dain glowered and tried not to show his discontent and to where Brangwyn’s father nodded and smiled at him.  He was a fine man who had once been a great smith but now his illness had made him gaunt and pale.  Yet, his eyes still twinkled, just like Brangwyn’s.  “I am glad I have lived so long to see you married,” he had said to her.  “And now I shall fight to live a little longer to see my first grandchild.”

 

Then the king looked across at his heir who was dressed in a similar outfit to his own – and very nice he looked too, thought a totally unbiased Thorin.  The stage was set and he made a gesture for the ceremony to begin.

 

A group of elves plucked at their harps and sang a sweetly harmonious elven song.  And, after that, a choir of dwarves sang a marriage song, a capella and with deep harmonies.  Then both elves and dwarves sang an anthem together, one that had been especially composed for the occasion.  At this point, the great bronze doors at the end of the hall swung open and Thranduil processed down the room with Brangwyn on his arm.

 

The hall echoed with appreciative claps and cheers.  Brangwyn looked stunning in her ivory gown, with her glittering coronet holding the beautifully worked veil in place.  Thranduil looked equally stunning in his sweeping white and silver surcoat and, with one of his twisted mithril crowns on his platinum hair, he did indeed look like a star shining through the trees at night.  Thorin heard the young prince gasp and thought perhaps that he had done the same and he smiled with joy as the one he loved approached him down the aisle.

 

Thranduil handed Brangwyn over to her betrothed and the young pair approached the altar for the more traditional ceremony.  The choirs sang more songs, the couple swore their oaths with their hands clasped on the altar and young children threw a million flower petals over them.

 

Then it was Thorin and Thranduil’s turn.  Balin had written a special and wonderful contract for them so that their partnership would seem just as moving and binding as the regular wedding ceremony.  And, as he read the words over them, they looked into each other’s eyes and the tears came into them as they thought of their love and the long years they had wasted when they had been apart.  Then they swore their oath on the altar and the whole hall rang with cheers.

 

After that, it was time for the hours of feasting in the Great Dining Hall.  The tables were groaning with food and beautifully decorated with flowers.  And, true to his word, Thorin had made sure that there was a mountain of the type of green food that the elves loved to eat.  He gazed across the table at his lover and passed the time counting the number of buttons down the front of his surcoat and making calculations as to how long it would take to undo the lot.  Not very long, he decided. 

 

Thranduil, for his part, gazed intently back at Thorin and wondered what gold and mithril ornaments lay hidden under his gown.  He just couldn’t wait until they were alone together so that he could explore his body.

 

As the evening came on, it was soon time for the younger pair of lovers to depart.  Young Thorin mounted a white horse and Thorin lifted Brangwyn up in front of him.  “Goodbye, for the moment, dearest friends,” she said to both the kings.  And she blew kisses down to them.  And then, to the waves and cheers of the assembled throng, they rode off on the short distance that separated Erebor from newly rebuilt Dale where they had hired a mansion for their time together.

 

Thorin and Thranduil turned and bowed to their retainers; then they were obliged to descend to the hall again for further toasts and drunken singing.  _Finally_ , to much cheering, kindly jests and applause, they went off hand in hand to Thorin’s apartments.  Tomorrow, they would set out for Mirkwood.

 

.o00o.

 

Young Thorin and Brangwyn lay wrapped in each other’s arms in a post-coital haze.

 

“Well,” said the prince smugly, “if that doesn’t produce a grandchild, then I don’t know what will.”

 

“Now, none of your arrogance,” laughed Brangwyn, digging him in the ribs.  “It takes two, you know.”

 

Young Thorin kissed his wife gently on her cute little nose.  “Was ever a couple so happy?” he whispered.

 

“Unless it’s Thorin and Thranduil,” was the response.

 

“I don’t know about that,” said Durin’s heir with a slight frown.  “All this arguing.  How long before their contract is broken, do you think?”

 

“Oh, don’t worry about that,” replied Brangwyn, burrowing more tightly into his side.  “Their contract will only be broken by Thorin’s death.  And then,” she sighed sadly, “I expect that Thranduil will either fade or go into the West.  But,” she added more cheerfully, “in the meantime, their rows are all part of who they are.  I reckon they only have them in order to make up afterwards.  It means that the love-making is more intense, you know.”

 

“It does?” blinked the prince.  “Yes, I suppose it must do.  We’ll have to try it some time.  But….meanwhile…..I like it our way.”  And with a grin, he rolled once more on top of his beautiful bride.

 

.o00o.

 

Thorin and Thranduil were not arguing.  In fact, they were standing quietly in the middle of a candle-lit room.  The elven king smiled gently at his lover as he looked about him: “Two minds that think as one,” he said.  “I have decorated my bedroom in Mirkwood in exactly the same way.”  And he gave a glance of appreciation at the flowers and the branches of greenery and the petals that strewed the coverlet.

 

Thorin shrugged modestly.  “Thought you’d like it,” he muttered.

 

“Yes, I like it very much,” whispered the elf, pulling Thorin to him.  Their kiss was long and slow and full of love.  Then the dwarven king rested his great head on Thranduil’s chest and fondled his lover’s nipple through the white silk.

 

“Twenty-two,” he murmured.

 

“Twenty-two what?” asked Thranduil in surprise.

 

“Twenty-two buttons.  But I’ve calculated that it will only take me about ten seconds to undo them.  I’ve been working on that all evening.”

 

Thranduil laughed and held wide his arms.  “Let us see, then, shall we?”  And Thorin’s surprisingly nimble fingers raced down the front of the gown.  He finished half-kneeling on the floor, at the lowest button.

 

“Is that a record?” he grinned looking up at the elven king.  And then, as the front of the robe fell open, he saw that Thranduil had been telling the truth and, with a sigh, he ran his huge hands up his lover’s naked thighs and hips and waist and chest until he finally slipped the surcoat off his shoulders and let it slide to the floor.

 

“What could be more beautiful?” he groaned, kissing the elf’s white throat.

 

“Only you, my love,” whispered his king tenderly.  And then he speedily removed Thorin’s fine clothes until they were standing naked together.  “Now for an interesting exploration,” he said, his voice tight in his throat.  And he lifted the dwarf in his arms whilst Thorin wrapped his legs about his slender waist.  And then, in three short strides, he carried him to the bed.

 

The elven king examined his lover’s body, starting with his head.  He tucked back the thick, black hair and laughed to see how many rings and cuffs Thorin had managed to insert into his ears; then he sucked every one.

 

Further down, he lingered over the nipple ring.  “I do love this,” he said, “even though I shudder when I think of you allowing it to be done to your beautiful body.”  And he spent some time playing with it with his teeth and tongue.

 

Then he moved a caressing hand across to the other breast.  “This is new,” he murmured.  “What is this?”

 

“A nipple clamp, or so they tell me,” was the grinning response.  “A whole load of stuff was brought up to me from the hoard which they said I might like to keep safely in a private collection in case they caused offence to those who might otherwise come across them.  I had no idea what any of it was and, in the end, I had to ask Dwalin.”  Thorin let out a roar of laughter.  “I chose the right person.  He gave me a detailed commentary and I let him take a few things away for his own use as payment for his time and information.” 

 

Thranduil worked on down Thorin’s body and found another new piercing through his navel and more clamps and rings and a plug.  “Oh, my love,” he laughed. “why didn’t I notice that you rattled when you walked?”

 

Thorin looked quite hurt.  “I thought you would find it stimulating,” he muttered.

 

“In small quantities,” was the smiling reply.

 

And when the dwarf huffily turned his back on him, Thranduil wrapped him in his arms and whispered in his ear:  “You don’t need all these extra bits and bobs to stimulate me, beloved.  If I need stimulation, then you are the thing itself: just unadulterated, pure, beautiful Thorin.”  And he slid a hard and oiled erection deep inside him.  “What other plug do you need?”

 

It was a long and tender night.  In the morning, they sat at either end of a warm bath together.  Thranduil stretched out a toe and flicked Thorin’s nipple ring with it.  “I’ll let you keep that one,” he grinned.

 

Thorin lay back in the water and gazed at the elf through half-lowered lids.  He couldn’t believe that this ethereal creature had only yesterday committed himself to love him for the rest of his days.  He closed his eyes and felt utter contentment.  What a feeling it was to be completely happy!

 

And Thranduil gazed back at his beautiful prize.  Not in six thousand years had he felt so overwhelmed with the sort of love that he was experiencing now.  A love for all time, he thought to himself.  But, so little time.  And his heart twisted with a piercing melancholy for the passing of all things and he thought of his own Fading once Thorin had gone.  And, at last he realised for the first time, that this was a thing not to be feared but to be embraced; and he also closed his eyes on a contented sigh and let the warm waters of the bath flow over him.

 

.o00o.

 

_Postscript_

_Everyone had at last gone from the lofty and gloomy crypt except for Brangwyn and Thranduil.  They stood silently, in mutual grief, next to the great marble slab on which lay the body of Thorin Oakenshield.  Finally, Thranduil reached out and gently touched his lover’s cheek, but it was as cold as any stone.  He swallowed hard and Brangwyn covered his hand with her own and softly drew it away._

_“Why did he have to die?” asked the elven king.  “And why do I yet live?”_

_“Because,” was Brangwyn’s quiet response, “he was a mortal dwarf and you are an immortal elf.  It is the penalty that you both have paid for such a relationship.”_

_She sighed.  She was Queen of Erebor now and her husband was Thorin III and both of them were getting old too.  “Our lives run quickly towards their bitter end but you have at least spent a hundred years with him.”_

_“A thousand years would have been too short a time to spend with him whom I loved above all others.”_

_Brangwyn slid an arm about the king’s waist and gave him a comforting hug.   “He was your One and your love will be the stuff of legend and song for centuries to come.”_

_“He was beautiful to the end,” said Thranduil, his eyes still fixed on Thorin’s face.  And Brangwyn had to agree.  His great mane of silver hair was now spread out upon the stone pillow in luxurious abundance and the clipped white beard framed a handsome face, still strong and chiselled and fine in its advanced years._

_“Did the two of you not prepare for this day?” she asked._

_“Yes,” replied the elf quietly, “but talking about things and actually experiencing them is not the same.”  And he cast his mind back over the previous few weeks when Thorin had lain dying on his bed, fading a little more each day, whilst Thranduil had sat next to him, holding his hand and, for the first time in his life, feeling totally helpless.  “How do mortals handle such things?” he asked her in a stricken voice, tearing his eyes finally from that beloved face and gazing earnestly at Brangwyn._

_“We remember them,” she said.  “We stand by their graves and we talk about our memories of them and we laugh as well as cry.”_

_“Laugh?” asked Thranduil in disbelief._

_“Yes,” she smiled.  “Do you remember that time when we four had been married for only a year and we all marched off to Balin demanding a divorce?”  Her smile broadened.  “That poor man!  I think he felt like wringing all our necks.”_

_And Thranduil let out a shout of laughter followed by a look of amazement that his laugh should echo around such a place as this.  “See,” she said.  “It helps a little.”_

_“Yes, a little,” he agreed.  “What else?”_

_“We hold to the thought that our loved ones are at peace and it is we, the ones who are left behind, who cry selfishly over our own pain.  We should be happy for them and let go.”_

_Thranduil thought for a while and then he bent forward and kissed Thorin one last time on his cold, cold lips: “An uich gwennen na ringyrn e-mbar han.  Uich gwennen na’wanath a na dhin.”_

_The words rippled like water through the Halls of the Dead._

_“That’s beautiful,” said Brangwyn.  “What does it mean?”_

_“ ‘You are not bound to the circles of this world.  You are not bound to loss and to silence’,” he replied.  “But I am bound and I must bear that burden because of my love for him.”  He paused a moment.  “And yet, the pain has been worth the price.”_

_They stood for a little longer, gazing at what they had lost.  And then they passed out of the tomb and into the sunlight._

.o00o.

 

**Well, that’s the last story in the series, everyone.  But, who knows?  If I miss my two kings enough, there is still plenty of room for manoeuvre, LOL!  Perhaps a story about that demand for a divorce!**

**(EDIT: I couldn't let go of these two in the end, and there are currently more than 40 stories. But, this is what I wrote when I thought I had come to an end.) This has been a lovely journey for me, my first attempt at slash, and I hope you have enjoyed the ride too.  Perhaps you should bookmark me, just in case I return, or read _All About Thorin_ as a consolation prize.  Let me know your thoughts, kind readers, because your interest, your kudos and your comments have been very much appreciated.**


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